


Joint Custody

by hannahrhen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Custody Arrangements, Dogs, Fluff, M/M, Pets, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-03-31 21:12:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3993070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahrhen/pseuds/hannahrhen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Cas were strangers who fell in love with the same dog at the shelter and decided to co-adopt. Of course, this unusual arrangement has its share of bumps and bruises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Dean wasn’t sure**  going out to eat to have this discussion was the best idea, given the subject matter, but Cas had insisted. So here they were, at a greasy spoon five blocks down from their complex, waiting on a reuben for Dean and a— _ugh_ —grilled chicken Caesar wrap for Cas. **  
**

“You know you’re supposed to order actual greasy stuff at a greasy spoon, right?” Dean tilted his tall plastic Coke tumbler across the table, careful not to slosh the soda over the lip.

“I’m sure there’s enough cross-contamination to keep you happy,” Cas said primly—yeah, “primly” was the best word for it, and Dean watched for a second as Cas picked up a packet of sugar and a second packet of Splenda, lined them up, and ripped the tops off simultaneously before dumping them in. Dean snorted.

Cas didn’t miss it but chose to ignore it this time. “Why don’t we talk about why we’re here.” He stopped stirring the … sugar cocktail into his cup for a sec, and used the spoon to gesture at Dean. “You’re not happy about the bills.” And Cas obviously wasn’t happy either—he looked ruffled enough, anyway, with the tips of his hair jutting out all over, stubble he clearly didn’t bother to shave anytime recently, and  _maybe_  yesterday’s t-shirt? He’d seen Cas polished and he’d seen Cas like this, and … if he had to admit it, he kind of preferred this.

(Hell— _fine._  Cas was … almost painfully cute, anyone could tell, but this look made him actually approachable. If Cas had been done up that first day they'd met, combed and shaved and buttoned, Dean never would have had the  _cojones_  to agree to split custody of the four-year-old rescue mutt they’d both instantly fallen in love with. Split custody with a stranger who coincidentally lived in the same apartment complex as Dean.

Wasn’t that something.)

Anyway, yeah, so—he preferred Cas messy. Didn’t prefer the bills he’d agreed to share, however, especially when they were delivered to his door with no warning. He lifted up the manila folder Cas had dropped by the day before. Paper was shoved in roughly, which was not how it had come, but instead was Dean’s response to seeing the actual numbers printed at the bottom of each sheet.

“Yeah, listen,” Dean began—and he was already fighting an uphill battle, he knew it, but he was gonna dig in and fight anyway, because that was the Winchester way. “I wanted to adopt a dog so I  _didn’t_  have to pay hundreds of dollars out of the damned gate, you know?” He tried to smile—knew it came out more of a grimace, but—holy  _shit._ Did the vet get paid in gold? “Adopted dogs are supposed to be cheap.”

Cas fucking rolled his eyes, the dick. “First of all, Dean, there is no such thing as a cheap pet, which you would know if you had—” And Cas was smart, because he cut that line of discussion right off; Dean’s lack of dog-parent experience had been a contentious issue from the start, once Cas got the full extent of it.

Dean couldn’t exactly help it, growing up how he had, moving over and over, and Dad had never—well, Cas knew that, now, which was probably why he drew a breath and started over, changing his tone from pissed to long-suffering. AKA  _the usual._  “Bailey has an allergy, Dean—probably a number of allergies. It is prudent to determine what they are so she can be treated.”

He peered at Dean, and his dark eyebrows kind of pressed together in a way Dean—no, Dean wasn’t gonna lump that in as something he liked, for fuck’s sake. He was seeing it too much lately. And, “You have noticed how much she scratches, haven’t you?,” like Dean was the world’s biggest inattentive dog dad, and—

“Yeah, I’ve noticed, but … but dogs  _scratch_  themselves, Cas! It’s what they do! I don’t see why she has to—” He pointedly opened the folder then. “Let’s see. A prescription for prednisone?  _Prednisone_ , Cas? And instructions to give her Benadryl three times a day? _Three times a day_? When am I supposed to go to _work_? And—” He flipped to the next receipt, which had been shuffled out of order once Dean had seen the numbers and kind of flipped out. “Allergy testing for three hundred dollars?” He pointed at the line, and couldn’t help but affect an exaggerated tone, because, holy shit: “ _Oh!_  I’m _sorry,_  that would be three hundred dollars for  _phase one_  of the allergy testing!” He jammed a finger at the receipt. “Phase frickin’  _one_!”

He was trying to rile Cas up, yeah, but right then the sandwiches came, which kind of ruined the dramatic effect, goddammit. So Dean picked up the folder and carefully moved it out of the way as the waitress set down the plates—might as well not screw up the evidence of Cas’ … Cas’ …

“Is this some kind of Baron Munchausen’s thing?” Dean wondered, only half-joking, right when Cas was gonna bite into that wrap.

And—okay, Dean knew  _that_ look, which meant he had somehow pushed Cas over the edge from mildly annoyed and confused to outright incredulous. Cas lowered his wrap. “ _Baron_ Munchausen is a fictional character, Dean,” and Dean shrugged as he picked up his own sandwich. Cas continued, the tone even more long-suffering now. “And, no, it  _isn’t_ Munchausen’s by proxy. She’s uncomfortable, and I want her to feel better.” Cas left the wrap for a minute and stabbed his fork into the fruit salad next to it. “I guess I thought you would feel the same way.” They both chewed for a minute, Cas never looking away from Dean, which Dean knew because he kept peeking back up to check.

Yeah, and there was the guilt, right on schedule. He knew he’d been fighting a losing battle, arguing against treating their dog, for fuck’s sake, but—damn, was the vet paid in  _actual_ gold? For real? He hadn't _seen_ a Ferrari in the clinic's parking lot, but maybe he needed to check around the back!

Cas was still—still watching him, and then he set down his fork. “Dean, my previous offer stands. If you want me to have her outright—”

“No!” Because, hell, no, that wasn’t what Dean wanted. Three months ago he’d fallen in love with Bailey on a website, and three months ago Castiel Novak had done the same, and Dean—Dean was all in. It was just—

Cas paused before digging into the wrap, and, no, he really wasn't dumb, even if he played it sometimes. He finally conceded, “I should have talked to you about the treatments first.” He took his eyes off Dean, looking at his food as if it were suddenly riveting. “I’m sorry for surprising you.”

Which was all Dean wanted, really. So he shrugged and grabbed a fry to show just how cool he was with the situation. “Yeah, okay, but … really, it’s okay, and … you’re right about the allergies. She does just look … “ Dean considered it for a moment. “She just looks itchy all the time. Can’t be comfortable. Just … uh … call me first, okay?”

“If you need to reduce expenses—”

And that went straight to Dean’s ego. “No, man—”

“Seriously, Dean, there are things we can do. You take her to the groomer twice a month. We could learn to do all that at home. Your place once, then my place—”

“No, Cas, it’s okay—”

“And we can express her anal glands ourselves instead of paying–”

Dean threw down a fry. “Cas, I’m telling you right now, and listen real close:  _ **I am**_   _ **not touching anyone’s anal glands**_.”

And that … came out a little louder than he wanted, a lot more  _emphatic_ , and Dean caught himself and jerked a look around to see if anyone had actually heard it. Cas had, of course, and was smirking into his cup of iced tea. “Asshole,” Dean muttered.

“Don’t worry about it,” Cas said after he swallowed. He gestured toward the other booths, which were too damned close and also full of people. “I’m sure at least a few of them are dog owners and don’t think you’re a total deviant.” And he dodged a tossed fry before adding, biting back a laugh, “I mean, you’ve made it clear you’re not into butt play, so at least there’s that?”

And if Dean had ever expected to hear the words “butt play” out of Cas’ mouth—well, he hadn’t, and Dean tried real hard not to think about being “into butt play” and whether he should— _uhh—_ continue to follow that line of conversation. And Cas was really smiling now, his eyes crinkled up but still ridiculously bright, and he was already a third of the way done with his sandwich somehow, and soon it would be time for them to return to their respective apartments.

Dean didn’t even have custody of Bailey this weekend to keep him company.

But just when he picked up his drippy, awesome reuben to speed along his impending isolation, Cas prompted: “Baron Munchausen, huh? You know who he is?”

Dean talked through a mouthful of food to tease out that little annoyed frown again—it really went perfectly with Castiel’s rumpled look. “Just saw the movie a long time ago. Terry Gilliam.” He swallowed. “Love his stuff.”

Cas just nodded and took another bite. Halfway done now, and Dean was beginning to wonder if he should ask for a refill of his Coke when Cas continued, “I have The Fisher King on Blu-ray, and,” and he got a little shifty, suddenly, the awkward way Dean didn’t see much but always made him a little warm inside, “I haven’t watched it in awhile. Do you, uh—”

And whatever was the opposite of a slow-motion train wreck, Dean was experiencing it—maybe a slow-motion, perfectly timed traffic light or slow-motion, accidentally free extra candy bar from a vending machine. Because Cas kept going, and he said, “Do you want to maybe come over tonight and watch it with me?”

And before Dean could answer, Cas plowed on: “And Bailey, of  _course_ ,” like it was a very serious pronouncement.

Dean pulled himself up, and he could do the serious pronouncement as well. “Oh! Well, if _Bailey’s_ there, how can I say no?” He offered Cas a smile—knew it looked goofy by the matching one that was returned. “Just tell me when and what to bring.” And suddenly it was okay that Cas was going to take another bite of that grilled chicken whatever-the-hell.

Because that was how Bailey’s dog-parents made their first date.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prequel to the diner scene. Dean finds the perfect dog, but has someone else found her first?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A prequel to the previous chapter. I made a few edits to the previous part to line it up with how the meeting scene ended up going!

Dean muttered at himself to calm down as he pulled into the big-box shopping center, hands tightening on the steering wheel as he bounced the car too hard over speed bumps. This was the kind of place he hated on sight--avoided if at all possible--and plowing into some mom trailing three kids into Crewcuts ‘n Ponytails or whatever-the-hell wasn’t gonna make this afternoon any easier.

Please be here, he thought intensely. Just ... still be here. He’d broken the speed limit on the way over, and more than once. Had basically decided on the plan of attack when the girl behind the desk at the county shelter had shrugged after pulling up the record. “She’s out for an adoption event--I’m sorry.” Like it was already said and done. “But there are plenty of other--”

“Where is the,” and Dean couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth, “'adoption event?'”

That’s how he ended up in this suburban shrine to consumption--TJ Maxx next to Big Lots next to Best Buy, a department-sized liquor store for the suburban wine moms, and a PetSmart wedged in one corner, where women trailed poodles instead of offspring.

He still couldn’t believe he was doing this--was _thinking_ about doing this. It was ten o’clock the night before, and, yeah, he’d had a couple of beers. Was debating between a reddit time suck or maybe some porn when he ended up on the local shelter’s website instead. Just curiosity. Just something to do. Okay, yeah, he’d seen those--those pics that had gone around of the rescue dogs shot in photo booths or whatever, puppy glamor shots, and they were goddamned cute, okay, and Dean just kind of wondered how regular dog photos looked in comparison, so he just wanted to kill some time and look.

That’s when he saw her, and it was like some kind of hoodoo had been cast on him. She’d been all the way at the bottom, and he just as easily could have missed her in all the images of tiny puppies and and bouncy pit bull mixes. “Bailey,” four years old--kind of light-brownish mixed something or another with a pointy face and floppy ears. She definitely didn’t look like any photo-shoot dog. She looked kind of ... sad? Sad, he guessed, yeah. The way she was sitting, it was hard to tell if she was kind of fat or if it was just shadow. She was looking out at the camera in a way that Dean couldn’t stop thinking about.

She looked like she was looking at Dean. And, yeah, it was crazy, but that’s how he felt, and it had only been a couple of beers.

Stray, the write-up said. Thirty-nine pounds. He’d looked at the picture again--guessed she was supposed to be a lot less than that based on the swells of fat around her waist. He wondered who got to name the dogs that came in. “Bailey” was kind of a predictable name, when a set of puppy siblings had been christened Leila, Luke, Chewie, and Yoda. (Yoda was a girl, but Dean supposed there weren’t a lot of options if you were sticking to episodes four through six. He gave a silent nod to the purist who drew the line at Padme.)

Dean couldn’t say what pushed him over the edge. Okay, yes, it was that face--that sad freakin’ abandoned-dog look that spoke to him. He’d never had a dog. Dad hadn’t allowed it since they’d moved so much, them and Sammy, and even after Dean was out from under his roof he still had Dad’s lectures ringing in his ears.

They’re dirty, son.

Always gettin’ sick.

Bark all the time.

Too goddamned _needy._

John Winchester hadn’t had time for needy, that was for damned sure, not from his family and not from nothin’ else, and there was no reason Dean Winchester should feel any different. Except ...

 _Except:_ Dean had looked around his two-story loft apartment, the one that was so sound-proofed it was basically always silent. Practically muted the Led Zeppelin he tried to play to make some damned noise. The one that he came home to from work every afternoon to find just as empty and cold as it had been that morning, and the day before, and the day before that.

Goddammit, he _wanted_ a _dog._

Dean fuckin’ Winchester wanted a barking, needy, dirty-ass _dog._

He’d wanted a dog when he was eight years old, and twelve, and sixteen. And, hell, twenty-six, the last time it had come up with his dad before the accident, when John was sure Dean would still say “yes, sir” to just about any and all of John’s firmly-held beliefs.

Dad was gone now, and Sam had moved away, and Dean just wanted something--someone to come home to. Could he not just have that one thing without overthinking it? Without hearing Dad’s lectures echoing in his head again and again?

So here he was, tracking down Bailey like he was Dustin Hoffman and it was the end of The Graduate. He crossed the hot parking lot, nodded and grimace-smiled at another guy, his age, heading back out to his car with a pug on a leash. Guy just like Dean, with a dog. Dean wondered if she--if Bailey was still going to be here in those cages they always put out front on Saturdays, when they had “adoption events.” Wondered if someone else had already seen her and wanted her.

Hell, Dean hadn’t even met her yet--maybe they wouldn’t even hit it off. Maybe he’d see her and think she wasn’t all that. Maybe she would meet him and decide he wasn’t a dog person. They did that, right? Dogs? They could tell that about someone?

But as he walked up, he saw her--she was still there, in a cage that looked way too small for her, next to two other cages. Curled up in a corner with that same sad face he’d seen in the website picture. Scratching herself a little as he approached from the side, then settling back down. One other cage was already empty, and the woman tending the dogs looked like she was starting to gather up the stuff on the folding table sitting alongside, piling papers into a stack and picking up the loose pen.

Leave it to Dean to try to be casual about going to the shelter--taking his fucking time today; he’d almost missed her yet again. Would go from Dustin Hoffman to stalker in one more move.

He walked right up to Bailey’s cage. She looked up, ears perked, and immediately lurched to the edge--looked him up and down and then nosed at the hand he held up to the bars. Wagged her tail. Wagged her tail harder. Wagged her tail so hard he was sure she was gonna knock herself over. And then tried to nudge her nose all the way through the bars.

Heh. Guess she thought Dean was a dog person after all? Dean tried to keep his face neutral--too many people were walking by to let his guard down. He was just here to look, after all. To check things out.

But he heard the woman laugh a little, off to his side. “That’s something.”

“Really?” Dean said, without thinking. Without checking himself. He looked over for her reaction. Wondered if all shelter employees--volunteers?--were required to be female. She looked like she was maybe just out of college. Close to Sam’s age. “What?” He reached his fingers through the cage wires and under Bailey’s chin. Scratched her a little to give his hand something to do. Bailey didn’t seem like she minded--in fact, she launched her padded body up harder against the bars and was trying to lick his fingers through the metal.

“She’s pretty shy usually.” Dean glanced back at her again, still working on keeping his face neutral. Just browsing or whatever. Just thinking about it. It was harder when the woman added, “You’re only the second person to get that kind of reaction right off, at least as far as I’ve seen.” The girl was smiling, but her attention was back on the papers in front of her. She was writing something down.

He relaxed. Only the second?

“Can I ... “ Dean gestured at the cage, waited as the woman nodded with a "sure," collected a leash, walked over and opened it, and slipped the loop around Bailey’s neck to lead her out.

Before Dean knew what he was doing, he was down on the concrete, cross-legged, with a faceful of ridiculous dog. She was whimpering, wiggling her chubby body around as that tail went tick-tick-tick like a pendulum on speed. Time passed--how much, Dean couldn’t say. He was already thinking about it, how she’d fit into his apartment, where she’d sleep, where he’d take her on walks, what he needed to buy to give her a home. Wet food or dry? (Yeah, that was why they had these events at pet stores. Quid pro quo, Clarice.) He had a lot to get and consider (a vet!), but at least he’d found the dog.

He only half-heard the lady say, “The other guy--yeah, he got the same exact reaction. It’s weird.”

Huh? Wait. “What other--”

And then Bailey was tugging away on the leash, a happy bark or two, and Dean looked up and saw--

Oh. The other guy.

 _That_ other guy.

The neon pink plastic bowl was the first thing Dean processed, and then the dark red dog bed folded under an arm, and then the giant paper shopping bag bulging from all sides, and then the spikes of messy dark bed-head and black stubble and--

Oh, the bed. The bag. The bowl.

This guy ... He looked like a dog person.

He was frowning at Dean and Bailey on the ground, and Dean suddenly knew what paperwork the shelter woman was filling out. Sure enough, there was a driver’s license on the table next to the papers. “Are you--” Dean gestured to the painfully happy dog, who is pulling toward this stranger like she already knew him, and Dean ... well.

The guy shrugged. “I was.” He looked down at the squirmy body at his feet. Smiled a little. “Yeah, I am.”

“Oh.” Well, that was it, then. Dean stood up, still clutching the loop on the leash. He thought about glaring at the woman for leading him on, but ... hell, he figured she was just doing a job. Too many homeless dogs, not enough people. Just trying to even the odds of someone taking one of the animals home. Probably knew from experience that some prospects walked out of the store and kept on walking. People changed their minds all the time.

This guy hadn’t, though.

“Were you--,” the man said, in a voice suddenly so kind it actively fuckin’ hurt, and right when Dean got to his feet, Bailey turned and ran back around to him, wagging even more and barking up at Dean like he’d just returned from war. In any other circumstance, it would have made him feel pretty good. Just him and this other guy, but the other guy had arrived half an hour earlier.

So Dean shrugged. “Maybe. I was.” He nodded, and after a moment held the leash out to the other. “I was, yeah.”

“Oh.” And the man was just looking at him, and not taking the leash, dammit. Hell, they were done here, right? He eyed the guy again. Dean knew rough, and this guy really looked like he’d had a rough night--white button-down shirt wrinkled with the top three buttons ignored altogether. Tails out and drooping over his waist. Jeans with the knees ripped out. ... Sandals? What kind of dude wears brown leather sandals?

Just who is allowed to adopt needy dogs around here, anyway?

He didn’t approve, but he guessed it wasn’t for him to decide. Sure enough, the woman was handing the license back to Mr. Brown Sandals. “Seems she likes both of you,” she said, and the other guy turned around and said, “Yes, it does, Georgia,” because of course he already knew her name. That’s the kind of thing a dog person would do, learn the anonymous shelter person’s name, when they were planning to adopt a dog.

Dean didn’t know that.

He kept holding onto the leash, because the guy was putting his license away and not taking the leash back, for God’s sake. “I just wanted to--”

“I know.” And who the hell was this guy? And why were things suddenly very intense in front of the PetSmart? Dean just wanted to hand the leash back over and get the fuck out of here--let this idea go. It had been a terrible idea. But the man just held his stare. “I can tell,” he added, even more intensely. “You think she’s special, too, huh?”

And, yeah, but Dean wasn’t gonna peel that layer open in front of some stranger. So he huffed, straightening his shoulders. “Yeah, well. Seemed like the right time. My, uhh, apartment is changing its pet policy, they’re not gonna let people take in new pets after next month, but they’re--uhh--you know, grandfathering in--”

And the intense look on the stranger’s face went soft for a minute. Kind of thoughtful. “Mine, too. Strange.” He squinted at Dean. “Which apartments?”

And when Dean said it, the guy just smiled bigger, showing ridiculously white teeth to go with his ridiculously blue eyes. Bed head. Okay, he was good-looking enough, but ... _brown sandals._ “That’s--huh--that’s where--”

And Dean suddenly knew the rest of it. Definitely strange, all right. Just a weird coincidence, all right. At their feet, Bailey had gone silent, sitting on her haunches and looking between them, but her tail was still wagging.

“I saw her on the website, and--” Dean sounded stupid, he knew it, but this stranger was looking at him like he goddamned understood, and Dean couldn’t help himself. “I just knew.” Fat lot of good it did, except ... except. “I thought she was gonna be my first dog. I haven’t ... uhh ... ”

“The ... same,” the man said, just frowning a little now. “I mean, I knew, too. Sometimes the right dog just comes along, you know? And I actually thought she was going to be my fifth.” Looked down at the bag in his hand, hitched up the bowl a little. “I want her to be my fifth. But ...” He looked back at Dean. “My name is Castiel.” And that would go with the sandals, the weird name, but the stranger was looking at Dean like he was nothing inside but warmth and understanding, like Dean was at a damned therapist’s, and it threw Dean off so much that he just said his own name back.

Now Georgia was watching them, too, back at her seat at the table.

“Listen, Dean,” Castiel said, and he lowered the bag and the bed to the ground, and dropped the pink plastic bowl inside (where Dean happened to see a matching red one. Food and water--right. Dog person). “I have ... What do you think about ... " He took a breath. Started again: "I have ... kind of a weird proposal.”

And Bailey just sat on the ground, watching and wagging, while Georgia raised her eyebrows, smirked, and went back to filling out the adoption paperwork.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Rescue dogs in photo booth](http://mashable.com/2015/03/27/shelter-dogs-photo-booth/), for reference!

**Author's Note:**

> First part [originally posted on tumblr](http://hannahrhen.tumblr.com/post/119687659973/new-fic-joint-custody-by-hannahrhen-dean-cas). Find me there if you want fanfic recs and general squeeing and hand-wringing about fannish stuff.


End file.
